


With Your Kindness

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Community: kink_bingo, Cuddling and Snuggling, Domestic, Established Relationship, Hair, M/M, Podfic Available, Romance, Sleepiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cerebro takes a lot out of Charles; a warm bath complete with washing his hair feels like the least Erik can do, but if it's all he can offer, he will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Your Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for xmen_firstkink on LJ. The title comes from a Sam Cooke song: _Soothe me, baby, soothe me / Soothe me with your kindness._
> 
> This story has been generously podficced by [Rhea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea) (thank you!). [You can find a link to the podfic here.](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1105392.html)

There have been times Erik has looked around at this facility and wondered why on Earth it's outfitted the way it is. One of the bathrooms has a bathtub big enough to fit three; one of the bedrooms has a bed that could easily hold seven, heavily reinforced with steel. Mutation can take almost any form, Erik could have guessed that already, but for the scale they work under, it seems excessive.

Today, though, as he eases Charles away from Cerebro, he's going to take advantage of one of those excessive fixtures. He wraps an arm around Charles, gets Charles's other arm around his shoulders, and gently walks him in the direction of the east-wing bathroom, settling him down on the bench just inside the door.

"Stay here," Erik murmurs. Charles nods, though he immediately stills his head with one hand and looks as though he wishes he hadn't moved it at all.

Erik runs a bath that's warm but not too warm, enough to be pleasant but not enough to raise Charles's temperature very quickly. There's soap at hand, shampoo, both vaguely herbal-scented, and Erik strips out of his clothes, setting them aside so he can take care of Charles's, too.

Charles is barely moving by the time Erik gets to him; he helps Erik just enough, moves a limb when it's needed, but Erik practically ends up carrying Charles to the bathtub, easing him into the water. As they sit down, Erik positions himself against one end and draws Charles back with him, Charles's back resting against his chest. The width and length of the bathtub finally has a purpose.

As they settle into the water, Charles leans further and further back, sinking down deep. He ends up with his head lying on Erik's chest, his face barely above the surface, and Erik reaches up and trails his fingers through Charles's hair, careful not to let the water drip down Charles's face.

Charles hums out a warm sound, shifting his shoulders slightly. The tension's starting to ease from him; Erik can feel it in the way Charles is curled against him.

It's not enough, though--not enough for Charles, who pushes himself no less than he pushes everyone else but refuses to be borne up. Charles is everyone's support and guide, everyone's teacher, everyone's confidante, but the closest he comes to trusting anyone, sharing his doubts or his needs or his worries, is with Erik. And even then it's not in words.

Erik gets it from the motions of Charles's body, from the expressions on his face when he's too pleasure-shocked to keep everything inside. When Charles needs comfort, he clings; when he needs doubts driven out of his head, he begs; when he's worried, he takes things slowly, spending maddening hours sucking Erik's cock or making love to him over the course of a full night, leaving them both wrecked the next day.

Cerebro pleases him, the elated look on his face when he's extending his reach to its limits gives that away, but there's a price involved. The headaches began a week after Charles began to make near-continuous use of it. A week spent talking a mile a minute, fidgeting every moment, biting his lip and saying, "I've just remembered, there's someone I meant to look into" and being back in the damned helmet before Erik could stop him. A week where Charles dragged Erik to bed and wouldn't take no for an answer, talked Erik into it with greedy, busy hands and desperate rubbing-up; two days in, Erik began to wake up in the middle of the night with Charles pressed against him, rubbing against his ass and whispering out names and times and locations.

Erik draws both his hands out of the water and cradles Charles's head in them, easing Charles back until his hair floats gently in the water. Charles goes without a struggle, trusting Erik to keep him safe in the water. It's only fair; Erik owes him one.

This is the least of the things Erik can do for him-- physical comfort, now that he's finally come to realize he can't stand in Charles's way or quiet him with sex or become some kind of calm within Cerebro's storm-- if he were a tranquil sort of man, perhaps, not so easily given to anger or force, but even for Charles, there are things about himself he can't change.

He rubs gently at Charles's scalp, strong fingers patiently working at those tiny tense muscles. Charles moans with pleasure, leaving his head in Erik's hands, floating in the water as Erik begins to rub harder, bring that pleasure to Charles a little more deeply.

There's a thought from Charles, not a word or even a feeling, just the mental equivalent of a sigh, and Charles rolls his shoulders again, stretching a little carelessly. He has to sit up partway to keep the water from flowing over his face, but he's moving more easily now, less inclined to treat his head as if it's a fragile glass ornament or liable to shatter at any moment. Erik helps him more-or-less to upright, and when Charles no longer has him pinned to the back of the tub, Erik stretches an arm out and reaches for the shampoo.

Charles's wordless thoughts go inquisitive, curiosity bubbling to the surface, but what Erik's doing will be fairly obvious in a moment, so he doesn't bother to explain. He gets just enough shampoo to work into a lather, rubs his hands together, and strokes his hands through Charles's hair, massaging his scalp from the top of his forehead all the way back past his ears, down to the nape of his neck. He doesn't stop there; he rubs Charles's neck, strokes some of the hurts out of his shoulders. Charles lets out a soft sound when Erik finds a particularly stubborn knot just at the right side of the base of his neck; Erik digs his thumb in and rubs up and down until the knot loosens.

For the first time, Charles manages to shape his thoughts into words Erik can understand. «Oh, yes, that's-- yes, Erik, don't stop,» and Erik doesn't, keeps rubbing until something shifts under his hand and Charles is purring.

He moves his hands back up to Charles's hair, then, sliding his fingers back and forth, making Charles purr from that as well. He tips Charles's head back, lets Charles relax into the water, and as he teases the suds out from the strands of Charles's hair, he can feel that purr in his mind, too.

He can't be as thorough rinsing as he'd like, not without risking getting shampoo into Charles's eyes, but the point isn't as much the shampoo as the massage and the connection, reminding Charles he's more than just his mind and his brain, more than a spotlight bringing their attention to new mutants, more than his job, more than what the CIA considers _useful_ and his own conscience considers necessary.

"I'm here, Charles," Erik murmurs, and Charles turns in his arms, making waves within the water. He twines his arms around Erik's neck and kisses him, soft, easy, none of the frantic pace he'll probably be struggling through later. Erik strokes his fingers through Charles's hair, combs the strands until they all lay flat and even.

"Come to bed," Charles whispers. Erik pets him one last time and lets him go, and Charles slips out of the tub, taking a towel from the rack. Erik pulls the plug and starts the water draining, and then he's joining Charles, drying himself off, too.

They sneak off to bed like children afraid they'll be caught sneaking sweets after bedtime, but when the door's closed and they're alone, Charles makes a grab for Erik, clutching at him, dragging him to the bed and pulling Erik on top of him. «Need,» he thinks, «you, Erik, please--» His words are fizzing out into nothing, but Erik understands.

Erik presses himself up, reaches down to Charles's towel-scrubbed hair and strokes his fingers through again, teases at the cool waves of it. "An hour of sleep first," Erik says, even though he's not immune to Charles, especially when it's all too evident how much Charles wants him. "An hour of sleep, and you can have anything you want."

Charles bites his lip, but he nods. «Stay?»

"Of course I'll stay." Erik helps Charles out of his towel, leaves his own puddled on the floor beside it. He draws the covers back and puts Charles inside them, spoons up at his back to hold Charles close. «For as long as you need me,» he thinks, and when Charles draws Erik's arm over his chest and hugs it tightly, Erik knows Charles heard him.

 _-end-_


End file.
